“I know I’m angry at all the wrong things. The most fucked-up part is me. I was supposed to protect her. I loved her more than anything. I thought I knew her better than anyone, but I didn’t know about that. I reread every text, replayed every call, searching for signs I should’ve seen. If I’d just paid more attention... listened better...”
I wanted to tell him that love isn’t clairvoyance. That abusers hide in plain sight and the abused did everything they could to aid in that hiding. But I realized he probably knew that, perhaps even more clearly than I did. Unable to offer words that might mean something, I squeezed his hand. In comfort and solidarity.
“For years, I hated that we’d gone to nationals,” he went on. “I was out there chasing a meaningless trophy while my sister fought for her life. If I’d gone when I said I would, maybe she would’ve told me. Maybe I would’ve noticed something. Maybe I could’ve gotten her out in time. Maybe she’d still be here, living her best life.”
“It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen in your absence.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve spent many therapy sessions working through that guilt. I can mostly accept that as fact nowadays. But guilt can be a clingy bastard, and there are times when I can’t help but think out of everyone, I failed her most.”
I understood blame like that, not the kind others cast, but the kind you shoulder yourself. I knew too well that guilt didn’t have to make sense to stick. All it needed was an opening to seep through, to root itself to memory and grow in the dark. Carrying guilt for someone else’s sin was a language I spoke fluently. In a strange, awful way, that Luke spoke it too made me feel less alone.
“Anyway, it kinda blew up everything I thought my life was gonna look like. Not that I had some master plan to begin with, hadn’t even landed on a college yet. But after what happened to Carrie, everything I thought I wanted went out the window. My purpose became not letting her death be in vain. I couldn’t change what had happened to her, but maybe I could stop someone else’s life from being cut short. Maybe I could be the reason another family didn’t get ripped apart.”
“So you chose to become a bodyguard.”
“Well, in the biz we call it a personal protection officer, but yeah. I knew I wouldn’t last as a cop, didn’t want to get shoved into some messed-up system and forced to conform until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. And I’m not built for the schooling required to be a psychologist or social worker. But I found out security firms sometimes work with domestic violence cases. That seemed like something I could do. I enrolled in a program, got all my certifications, licenses, permits, and here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeated.
He turned, facing me. “Now that you know where I come from, I hope you hear this the way I mean it. I’m so damn gladthat you called. I’m glad you’re still here and you’ve got the chance to live, to take back your story. I know reaching out was hard, but you did it. That took strength. That strength is going to carry you through this.”
“You... you keep saying that,” I murmured. “That I’m strong.”
“That’s because you are, and if you can’t believe anything else right now, I want you to believe that.”
“You don’t think I deserved it?”
“Not even for a second.”
“But you don’t even know everything. How it started. How I stayed.”
“I don’t need the whole backstory to know you didn’t deserve anything you’ve gone through,” Luke said. “Seriously, there isn’t a single universe where the treatment you got is justified.”
“But I kept choosing him, even after things turned, even when it got bad, I stayed.” I’d been naïve for being with him in the first place, weak for staying. I’d allowed fear to win. There was nothing strong about that.
“For people on the outside it seems cut and dry, like it’s just good guy, bad guy, roll credits. It’s not. It’s this messed-up blend of love and hope tangled with fear and hurt, of memories that comfort and behaviors that harm. Staying doesn’t mean you failed, it means he knew exactly how to mess with your head and put a hundred invisible roadblocks in front of your leaving.”
I had convinced myself no one would understand. I had braced myself for judgment, ridicule, disgust, the thinly veiled accusatory questions.“Why didn’t you leave? Why did you stay?”But Luke didn’t reach for them, didn’t make me defend myself.
Warm relief spread through my chest, loosening something tight and long-held, but it was chased by a sudden, bone-deep exhaustion, as if the moment I’d been granted a sliver ofunderstanding, my body lost the ability to stand under its own weight.
Luke steadied me. “Alright, that’s enough standing for you. Back to the couch before you face-plant. Trust me, that is not the home initiation ritual we’re going for,” he said, guiding me down into the cushions.
When he went to pull away, my hand reached for his, tugging him down beside me before I could second guess the impulse. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been so bold, so assertive—more things I’d thought I’d lost but somehow found in Luke’s presence.
Settling in beside me, Luke said, “I’m not saying you have to, but if you ever want to share anything, I got two ears you’re welcome to.”
Anyone else, and I would’ve barricaded myself in silence, the way I always had. But Luke had placed pieces of his heart in my hands, and something in me felt compelled and safe enough to offer mine in return. “I want to. I’m just not sure where to begin.”
“Wherever makes the most sense for you.”
“Then I guess that’s with the fact that Vincent wasn’t the first person to abuse me. Ironically, my relationship with him began so I could escape from an abusive home.”
I paused, my eyes flicking to Luke’s. He squeezed my hand.
“Growing up, my home life wasn’t great,” I continued. “My mother verbally abused and neglected me and my father was a drunk, a violent one. He hurt me. Often. I got good at hiding it. Long sleeves, makeup when needed. I made myself invisible in all the right ways. No one ever asked. Maybe no one wanted to. It’s easier to be oblivious to the things we’d rather not see. Either way, I was primed for someone like Vincent.”
“How did you two meet?” Luke asked, his voice soft, with a hint of sadness but otherwise no judgment.
